Nowhere to Be
by Venna
Summary: You look at something and you think you know exactly what you're seeing, and then you find out it's something else entirely. Alternatetype end to S5


Nowhere To Be (PG-13)   
Venna (vennaverse@yahoo.com)   
  
disclaimer: If I owned all things Buffy, do you really think I would be as poor as I am?   
Rich ole Joss owns all.   
  
timeline: post Season 5/Season 2   
  
distribution: ask and ye shall receive   
  
author's notes: This is my first completed Buffy fic, so be afraid. Be very afraid.   
The fic jumps around a bit, I know. But I just saw "Memento" so don't blame me, blame   
Guy Pearce.   
  
Once upon a time broke and broken cut every tie left all I ever knew   
Once upon a time took off like a bird tried to fly though I didn't know how   
Once upon a time now that was once   
Once upon a time life closed in saw the end started over again   
Once upon a time now that is long ago a lifetime later on the other shore   
Once upon a time now that was once upon a time  
-Ebba Forsberg "Once Upon a Time"  
  
  
Willow -   
Italy is gorgeous. Angel is gorgeous. Might come back and see you soon. Give   
everyone kisses.  
- Love, Buffy  
  
I slip the postcard into the mailbox and smile to myself like an idiot. I   
really shouldn't be smiling, going back is only going to complicate things. But for   
the first time in a long while I feel up to facing that real life that's waiting for   
me at Sunnydale. Not waiting really, but moving on without me. Willow's been sending   
postcards for the last month or so, each time with some piece of news. "Anya and Xander   
are in Vegas eloping. Miss you, Willow" or "Spike drinking lots. Left to find   
Druscilla, or Harmony, or one of his crazy girlfriends. Now it's all quiet on the western   
front. Hugs, Willow" I don't know how much she's told and how much she's not told the   
guys. I "have the right to deal with my grief how I choose, without anyone interfering,"   
or something along those lines. She was always cool like that. After the funeral, when   
everything was so wrong, when I felt like I wasn't me at all, when I dealt the only way I   
knew how to deal with things and ran away as fast as I could, she was the only one who   
didn't immediately try to track me down. That had only been last June, but it already   
feels like another lifetime.   
  
***  
  
The night she arrived had been electric. Lightening had lit the Greyhound bus   
that was speeding her away from Sunnydale, from the Hellmouth, from all those loved ones   
she couldn't stand to be around. Buffy watched her watch the blinding flashes. She had,   
as always, taken the window seat.   
  
Buffy shut her eyes tightly, willing herself to sleep. "Go to sleep ... sleep,   
sleepsleepsleep." She snuck a peak at the seat next to her. "You too. You're just   
nervous. When we wake up everything'll be different, you'll see. But you have to go to   
sleep first."   
  
She was completely indifferent, much to Buffy's annoyance. Boredom was the only   
thing in her eyes when she finally turned to face Buffy. "You sleep. I'm fine here."  
  
"Don't you mind the lightening?"  
  
But fatigue had already claimed Buffy, her body exhausted from the stress of the   
past two days. The last thing she heard before drifting off was her murmured reply, "It's   
not so bad."  
  
It had been well past midnight when the bus pulled into Los Angeles. Deja vu,   
she thought as she hoisted her backpack over one shoulder. But she could vanish here,   
she knew that. Countless young blonde girls ran around this city desperately trying to   
be noticed and instead disappeared. She wasn't even trying. This would be easy, had   
to be.  
  
An all-night diner was flashing its gaudy flourescent sign from across the street.   
All she had were the meager savings she'd grabbed from her jewelry box, she needed to be   
saving what little she had. But Buffy wasn't thinking that far ahead; she was focused   
only on the sickly churning of her stomach. Even in the middle of the night the diner   
was crowded with unseemly, dangerous types to which she paid no notice. Buffy's mind was   
far from her body as she sat down, as she ordered, and even after she wolfed down a   
hamburger that she never tasted.  
  
"Where are we going to go?" She was leaning forward, elbows on the table, downing   
peach pie like she'd never eat it again. She was going to get an ice cream headache,   
Buffy noted but didn't mention it. She never listened to Buffy anyway.  
  
"I don't know. I'll think of something."  
  
"Let's go to him. He'll take care of us."  
  
"No." She was too tired to argue. Just speaking felt like too much for her body   
to handle.  
  
"He'll cheer you up. You're way too depressed."  
  
"He'll cheer me up? This is Angel you're talking about, you realize. He's the   
vampire who left me and broke my heart. He hurt me more than anyone else on the face of   
the planet. Remember?"  
  
"Sure, you could bring that up. But he also made you the happiest I ever saw you."   
She kicked her legs back and forth engergetically under the table, jabbing Buffy in the   
knees every few seconds. "Remember that Christmas when it snowed? The three of us had a   
huge snowball fight; you used me as your human shield when he started putting ice in the   
middle of his snowballs. And then we went sledding down that steep hill at the end of the   
street for, like, hours. At first I was too scared to go down. But he squeezed me in the   
middle of the sled between you and him and said he'd protect me. And he did, but you, you   
were in the front so you slid off the sled and landed right in a slush puddle. You got   
totally soaked so he gave you his coat to wear."  
  
A ghost of a smile passed Buffy's lip as she remembered what seemed like another   
life. "All he had on was a sweater. Everyone who walked by us thought he was a nut."  
  
"Yeah! But he didn't even notice the cold, not even when we were making snow angels   
in the front yard. When we finally went in Mom had a fire burning and hot chocolate with   
little marshmallows for us. The whole house was toasty. When Angel came in she had that   
funny look on her face, y'know the one, but she didn't say anything. Maybe because it was   
Christmas, or something. Anyway, we were all hunched around the kitchen island drinking   
and joking until even Mom caved, 'cause he was being so charming and cute probably, and   
she was smiling and calling him 'Snow Angel' with us. It all felt so cozy and ...safe.   
That was a really good day."  
  
"Spoken like a true Californian kid. Wasn't that also the only day in your life   
that you ever saw more than an inch of snow all at once?" Buffy's retort sounded   
half-hearted even to herself. She was too caught up in that day, one of the few, rare   
good days. Sure she remembered it. She also remembered the horror and melodrama of the   
night before. She remembered that for every one good day of smiles and laughter and easy   
kisses, there had been at least ten bad days of violence... bitter insults ... death.   
Those were the times that were real. She couldn't let herself forget what it had really   
been like.  
  
"Is that all for you, hon?" The waitress had appeared from thin air.  
  
"Yes, I'll just take the check." Buffy paid for the burger and soda and left.   
The night had grown chilly; wind whipped her hair out of place and stung her cheek.   
She knew she only had enough money left for one night at a motel, two at most. Then she'd   
be flat broke. Maybe she had been right. One visit, one small loan, how much damage could   
it do? Fine, Buffy decided, she'd see Angel. But not tonight. Right now she wanted to   
collapse and sleep into next week, not catch a re-run of the Angel and Buffy Show. She went   
to hunt down a cheap motel, snow angels and frost-bitten girls with slush balls still   
frolicing in the back of her head.  
  
***  
  
I'm helping Angel shave before we hit the road again. He can shave himself   
flawlessly, even without a mirror; after all, he's only had a couple centuries of practice.   
But he knows I like doing it for him. Maybe I do it because it's just too freaky, even   
for me, to see him leaning over the hotel sink with only my reflection in the mirror   
watching him from the bed. Or perhaps I just enjoy the normalcy of it. This isn't buying   
pig's blood or shopping for coats large enough to cover every flammable inch of a looming   
6'2" Irish man. It's just shaving a little stubble, the same stubble that Riley, Xander,   
every normal man grows. It is almost normal. Almost. Of course with Angel, what would be   
the result of a weekend of lethargy on a living man is two weeks of deliberate shaving   
neglect. I used to wonder why so few vampires chose to have facial hair. Now I realize   
it's because it would take a year just to grow a decent goatee.  
  
I've lost count of the number of times we've done this since we arrived in Europe.   
Taking care of one another in the beige bathrooms of anonymous hotel rooms. Five or   
six, at least. I haven't kept track of time since it happened. Weeks, months have passed   
but I could not say how many. I don't even know today's date. At the moment my only care   
in the world is getting the underside of Angel's chin without nicking him. Even with his   
safety-edge razor, I'm a dangerous threat.   
  
The first time I did this, he'd ended up with a prominent gash stretching from his   
lip to the curve of his jaw. We had only been in Europe a few weeks and the sight of   
blood had been too much, too soon. I had watched the line of bright crimson swell across   
his face, shimmering under the flourescent lights, and started to cry. That big, painful   
crying that burns my eyes and makes breathing a struggle. I had felt foolish the moment   
my eyes watered, embarrased at my own fragile state. Wasn't I supposed to be strong?   
What was I doing blubbering over a little spilled blood and the memories I was supposed   
to be running from? Typical Angel, he had pulled me into his arms and stroked my hair,   
kissing the top of my head and whispering words of comfort. He'd let me sob against his   
white undershirt until I was weak, shaking, and snuffling.   
  
I'm a mess, I had muttered when I saw my blotchy, tear-stained face glaring back   
at me in the mirror.  
  
You're beautiful, he'd replied. Always. His lips had trailed down my cheeks,   
kissed away my slick tears until I forgot why I had cried in the first place. His mouth   
had met my own, soft and tender. He tried so hard to be careful, but I hadn't let him.   
I'd had months of nothing but soft words and weak embraces since her death. Even since   
Mom's death, really. At that moment all I needed was fierce, bone-crushing passion that   
would leave no room in my body for any other feeling. He'd been more than willing to   
oblige me, his body crashing against mine violently. That had been the first time in   
three years we made love, hastily on the bathroom counter of a slate grey hotel room.  
  
***  
  
Buffy pulled her pajamas out of her bag, not bothering to unpack the rest of her   
things. With any luck, tomorrow she'd have a thick wad of Angel's money in her fist and   
a better place to stay. The cheap motel was just that. Long strips of paint were peeling   
off the far wall, crackling off to cover the top of the small television with a thin layer   
of paint chips. A strong mildew smell was wafting in from the sparse bathroom, the stench   
mingling with the clammy, moist air of the room. As Buffy brushed her teeth without   
touching the moldy sink, she began to hear her jumping on the room's lone queen-sized bed.  
  
"Hey! Quit it! Go to bed!"  
  
"But I'm at the bed." The jumping continued.  
  
"I'll be out there in a second. And if you aren't under those covers when I get   
out there.." The squeaking of bed springs ceased, quickly being replaced by resentful   
grouching that Buffy chose to ignore. She washed out her mouth and turned off the overhead   
light. The paper-thin sheets of the bed were almost comfortable, but only after Buffy had   
pulled and kicked at them for long minutes. "Go to sleep," she commanded.  
  
"I can't. You won't let me."  
  
"Sorry." Buffy reached forward and started stroking her long, soft hair slowly.   
The silky strands felt so close to real as it slipped through her fingers. "... y'know,   
about all of this."  
  
"You don't have to be. I'm really happy this way."  
  
"You can't be serious. Don't you miss ... everything?"  
  
"I'm fine where I am. I'm in a good place. I'm not burning in hell or anything.   
You just need to let go this time and let me die."  
  
"Don't say that word." This conversation had rapidly spun out of Buffy's control.  
  
"What, die? Dead? Dead!" She started yelling it gleefully, "Dead, dead, dead!   
Deaddeaddead! DEAD..."  
  
Buffy covered her ears as if ignoring the words would block out the reality. "Stop   
it!"  
  
"It's OK, though," she lowered her voice, suddenly sounding too serious, too old,   
too unnatural in Buffy's ears. "I was meant to die. That's why I was placed here in the   
first place. I had a purpose and I fulfilled it. Just like you. You were put on this   
earth to slay."  
  
"Not anymore. I'm done. I quit. Turned in my uniform and gave 'em my two-week   
notice."  
  
"Oh please." That sounded a little more like the girl Buffy remembered. "It's   
not that easy. Slaying is who you are. You can't just quit."  
  
"Well I just did. Explain that, smartypants."  
  
"Don't be like that," she sighed.  
  
"Be like what?!" Buffy exploded. "Upset? Upset that you're dead, that I let   
you die?!   
  
"You didn't let me do anything. I jumped because that's what I was supposed to   
do. Accept, move on, collect your Gift."  
  
"Go away. I have to sleep, I can't listen to this right now."  
  
And with that Buffy was again alone in the room.  
  
***  
  
After enough had died I would receive my Gift. Death. No exchanges, returns, or   
refunds. Death would finally be mine to kiss and hold tighty againt my chest at night.   
And now I have my Gift, unwrapped and just for me. These moments of happiness are my reward   
for watching my family slip through my fingers and die. My Gift, my death, is my only   
family left now. His cool body never leaves mine, assuring me he'll stay with me forever.   
He won't die like Mom, he can't. Nor will he die the way Dawn did, bright and violent. She   
sacrificed herself to save the world, but I won't let him get such a noble idea in his head   
the next time we get into another apocolypse situation. I won't give him the chance. Next   
time, I'll do it myself. I won't be afraid. I won't hesitate. Not again. I couldn't live   
through it again. I already have to watch her die every time I close my eyes. I see my   
moment's pause, just enough for her to shake loose of my grip, she's leaping before I can   
stop her, burning in a pool of lightening. Falling, falling forever it seems, while I just   
stand there and watch from the top of the tower. Then there was the climb down, in some   
ways just as painful as everything else that night, taking each rung of that endless ladder   
slowly and cautiously. When I had finally reached the ground, they were all just standing   
around, their faces blank. No one made a single facial expression when I carried her body   
to the hospital, or when her coffin slowly sank below ground, or when I went home to my house   
that had no one in it. It was when Willow's blank expression asked me if there was anything   
she could do for the thirty-eighth time that day (I had counted) that I had realized I needed   
to leave. I was at the bus station and away from the empty house, away from the family photos   
that grinned and mocked me, and away from the blank stares in less than twenty minutes.  
  
I blink my eyes tightly until I can see something besides the flashes of lightening   
again. Angel is packing my bag for me, neatly folding all my clothes and zipping away the   
toiletries. He gives me a devilish grin, "We still have a few hours to kill until sunset."   
Making love between us is still new, still exciting. I wake up next to him and have to remind   
myself that he's not about to go evil. Whatever made them (whoever 'they' are) decide that   
the happiness of this vampire would be my reward, I'm not complaining. Neither is Angel. We   
aren't about to look this Gift horse in the mouth.   
  
"You're incorrigible," I roll my eyes at him but he catches me smiling. This only   
encourages him and he soon has me wrapped in his cool arms.   
  
"You sure you want to go back?" He's all serious talk now.  
  
I nod. "Yeah. I need to go back. I don't know if I'm gonna resume slayer duties, or   
anything. But it is still home. I think it'll be OK. I mean, it won't be super ultra-fun at   
first, but once I get back into the swing of normal life..." I trail off, leaving the rest   
unsaid. I know it won't be the same, it can't ever be like it was before, but I'll get by.   
"Besides, we'll be together."  
  
"I still have busines..."  
  
"... in LA. Blah, blah, blah. I know. But we'll work it out, right?"  
  
He smiles at me, that I'm-perfectly-blissful-and-not-evil smile that suddenly makes   
every defeat, every death worth it for this one peaceful moment. "Yeah, absolutely."  
  
The digital clock on the bedside table reads 4:45 p.m. Oh yeah, hours until sunset.   
I grin back up at him, knowing that I've seen the worst and survived. Maybe a little beaten   
and bruised, maybe older and a tiny bit wiser, but I'm still here on earth with the rest of   
my life stretching out in front of me. And now I have my Death to share it with. I hold him   
a little tighter. "Kiss me."  
  
Which, of course, he does.  
  
***  
  
Even in the light of the noon day, the hotel was looming and creepy. Buffy stood in   
front of it, waiting for her nerves to calm and her breathing to even out. Beside her, she   
was skipping up and down the sidewalk happily. "Come on! Let's go in! Why are you just   
standing there, you look totally stupid."  
  
"You look totally stupid," Buffy replied automatically. She inhaled deeply, mentally   
rehearsing what she'd say. 'Hi Angel, gotta run, but can you spare a couple bucks?'   
No. 'Hey, it's Buffy. Remember me?' Oh God, she was doomed. She pushed open the heavy front   
door, maybe it was better if she came up with something on the spot. Behind Buffy she was   
spinning on the front steps, her arms spread out wide.  
  
Whatever Buffy had been expecting, the sight before her in the main lobby of the   
hotel was not it. A few duffel bags were scattered around, opened and half-packed. A mess   
of clothes and personal items was spread all over the room. Shirts folded and piled on a   
couch, hair supplies laid out on the front desk. Cordelia was holding a stack of folders   
and bellowing up at someone from the foot of a staircase. "You really think this is a good   
idea? Wesley and Gunn holding down the fort indefinitely, this doesn't scare you in the least   
little bit??"  
  
"Cordy, I have to go!" That voice, his voice. Suddenly she couldn't remember what   
she'd plan to say, what she'd needed, why she was even there.   
  
"Oh. My. God." Cordelia realized she wasn't alone in the lobby. "Buffy, you look   
like crap." Cordelia was always Cordelia. How nice that at least one thing in this world   
never changed. "Angel! Get your butt down here!" There was some random crashing and banging   
coming from upstairs. "Buffy, I'm so sorry. We just heard. Xander was calling here looking   
for you, actually ... ANGEL!"  
  
"Cordelia, what is it," he was losing his patience. "I need to..." Angel stood frozen   
at the top of the staircase. "Buffy."  
  
Cordelia fixed him with an exasperated glare. "You don't need to go to her. She came   
to you." She headed to a back room, taking another pile of file folders with her and leaving   
the two alone in the lobby.  
  
Buffy noticed he was clutching an armful of even more clothes. "Going somewhere?"  
  
"To see you, actually." He seemed suddenly lost, alone on the stairs with his socks   
and slacks tucked under one arm. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I'm leaving. No more slayage, I quit. It's just..." Come on, Buffy, get it out   
or you'll be starving next week, she chided herself. "I'm a little low on funds."  
  
"Oh." Well he didn't look upset, at least. "Where are you going?"  
  
"I ... don't know," she answered honestly. "I thought I might stay in LA a little   
while. Or maybe not. I ... haven't really got a plan just yet."  
  
He nodded. She wanted to congratulate him for not breaking down and giving her some   
meaningless words of comfort. He had always been the only one to pick up on just whatever it   
was that she needed, or in this case, didn't need. "Let me just check up on something real   
quick." He went back upstairs, leaving them alone in the lobby. If she strained, Buffy   
could swear she heard Wesley's british accent mingling with Angel's familar voice.  
  
She kept up her spinning, twirling between the front desk and the luggage faster and   
faster until she collapsed in a dizzy heap on the couch. She grinned up at Buffy and after a   
moment to catch her balance she got up and headed for the front door.  
  
"Where do you think you're going?"  
  
"I'm leaving," she replied cryptically.  
  
"Oh," Buffy picked up a few of Angel's shirts. "OK."  
  
"I'm not coming back."  
  
That got her attention. Buffy turned towards the door to face her. "What? Why not?"  
  
She smiled at her innocently. "You don't need me anymore. You've received your   
Gift, so I have to go now."  
  
"Of course I need you! What am I supposed to do? What gift, death? Is that it?   
I didn't get any gift!"  
  
"Sure you did. You'll see." She looked so serene, Buffy realized for the first   
time. "Trust me."  
  
"Alright." She gazed at her sister for an endless moment, trying to memorize her   
face one last time. "I love you. Always."  
  
"Duh, I love you too." Buffy couldn't stop a watery smile from spreading across   
her face at the reply. Typical, she thought. "I got you here Buffy Summers. Now the rest   
of it is up to you. Go do the living thing." She waved goodbye. "For me, huh?" The last   
Buffy saw of her was a stream of weak sunlight shining through her light dress as she skipped   
out of the office without a care in this universe. With that she vanished like a sigh. Buffy   
squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself not to break down and cry.   
  
Angel came back out. "Who were you talking to?"  
  
She looked back at the door, "No one. Just myself." She jammed the shirts she was   
still holding into one of the duffel bags. She didn't look up, she didn't want him to see   
her bloodshot eyes.   
  
"Buffy, I..." he took her hand and led her towards the couch. She plopped down in   
front of him, making sure her hair still hid her face. He opened his mouth to speak, then   
paused, then attempted to start again. Then slowly he brushed back her loose hair, tucking   
it behind her ear. Not missing the look of loss in her eyes that threatened to spill over   
and stain her cheeks, he finally found his voice. "What if we go away, you and me? You need   
a break. And LA is ... not the place to get away from it all."   
  
Going away with Angel. That was the most stupid idea she'd heard in a long time.   
Stupid, and wrong, and other bad things. "Where did you have in mind?"  
  
"Europe? You'd love it. There's fountains, monuments, cathedrals that just ... well,   
it's easy to forget about ...everything else when you're there seeing them."   
  
"All right," she said quietly.  
  
"What?" He seemed surprised that she would actually agree.   
  
"Let's go, get out of here." She thought of all the sights Dawn would never see   
now, places she'd never visit, things she'd never do. Maybe this was doing the living thing.  
  
He squeezed her hand and went to finish packing. As she watched him leave, Buffy   
sighed deeply. For once she felt like this was right, this clicked in her mind. It sounded   
insane, but she couldn't deny the rightness of it. Everything in her life had been rushing by   
her, twisting and confusing her for a long time now. She'd been running to catch up in a race   
she hadn't known she was running. Riley, slay, Mom, slay, hunt, Dawn, school, protect, fight,   
Glory, slay, slay, slay. But at this moment, when she had nowhere to be and no one to live   
for save herself, she finally felt some peace. The calm in the eye of the storm was there, she   
could see it waiting for her, and it wouldn't be long before she would catch up to it. It   
was just time and distance now.  
  
End 


End file.
